


Sweet Surrender

by chaoticlivi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Love, Oral Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25670770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticlivi/pseuds/chaoticlivi
Summary: My contribution to the "Flaming Like Anything" zine!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 82





	Sweet Surrender

In the countryside of the South Downs, nestled near Devil’s Dyke, there’s a tiny, strange little cottage.

From far away, sensitive humans might get the feeling something is alive and dreaming inside, even when it’s the middle of the night and all the lights are off and nobody has been seen there for a month or more.

These are subtle miracles keeping the place safe. It’s a sanctuary for a pair of supernatural beings who’ve developed an affinity for the Earth, including the occasional countryside retreat from the hustle and bustle of central London.

And on this particular afternoon, muted sunlight streams to the interior of the sitting room through sheer curtains. The angel, clad in his favorite cardigan, is reading a book on one end of the sofa, while the demon naps, sprawled out, an arm flung haphazardly across the angel’s lap.

**Crowley**

Crowley isn’t deep asleep, just taking the time to doze and enjoy the moment. He’s surfacing to consciousness, stretching as he luxuriates in the comfort of the cushions and the company, when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“You know, I think I’m in the mood,” Aziraphale murmurs, “for a taste of you.”

Crowley yawns. “Been reading dirty books again, have you?” He smirks as he lifts his head. This is a teasing little game they play ever since the first time he caught Aziraphale reading the humans’ smut.

“Hmm, yes, but not this one in particular.” Aziraphale puts his book aside and leans over for a kiss. “The one I finished earlier. I _have_ been waiting for you to wake up,” he adds, brows arched suggestively.

“ _Well_ then,” Crowley purrs in his most devilish voice, “far be it from me to stand between you and your cravings.” He pauses before asking, “Bedroom?” and gets that knowing smile in response, Aziraphale’s eyes all alight with something between raw joy and mischief, a blue as soft as petals and deep as dusk.

“Bedroom,” Aziraphale agrees.

Crowley drags Aziraphale on top of him as he tips onto their mattress. He receives a soft full-body embrace with tantalizing friction, plus a drawn-out French kiss, which eventually becomes a trail of smaller kisses and licks down his neck.

Aziraphale helps Crowley out of his shirt and trousers, starting with the buttons - not necessary, but part of the ritual, and yet another excuse for them to grope each other through their clothes. They get hard in the middle of this task and spend rather more time than intended touching each other flirtatiously before they finally finish removing their outfits.

Crowley is grateful for the buildup, the seduction, the anticipation of the pleasure he knows will be coming next. Aziraphale neatly folds their clothes onto the dresser and presses their naked bodies together as he returns to bed, starting all over with another deep kiss on Crowley’s lips.

As always, he takes his time working his way down, eventually pressing kisses into the seldom-touched flesh on both sides where Crowley’s legs meet his body. He licks and sucks the tender skin with a relish Crowley isn’t sure he deserves. As if he can hear this thought, Aziraphale reaches up to caress the corner of Crowley’s hipbone.

“Hngh.” Crowley grins, soft, too embarrassingly enamored to use his words right now. He laces the fingers of both his hands in the flaxen curls of Aziraphale’s hair.

“So lovely, my dear,” Aziraphale whispers. He tilts his head forward to be better touched without taking away his mouth, for which Crowley is very grateful. Aziraphale kisses and licks Crowley’s bollocks with delicate regard, supports them with the warmth of his hand so he can suck at the base of his cock. As anticipation beads on Crowley, he musses Aziraphale’s short locks, gently, and smiles through a sigh.

With one more squeeze, Aziraphale moves his hand from Crowley’s hip in order to hold his cock up and lavish him with broad, wide tongue-strokes. Licking the drop of excitement from the top of Crowley’s length, Aziraphale hums and puts the very tip between his lips in a wet kiss, playing with sweetly torturous little swipes of his tongue.

“You taste,” Aziraphale murmurs, breath teasing-hot, every syllable an ember against his skin, “absolutely exquisite.”

“Thank you,” Crowley manages.

Bless it, Aziraphale _chuckles_. It’s nice (he’s beautiful), being this at ease, so Crowley lets himself be silly for the moment and doesn’t complain.

Aziraphale does not simply take him in all the way, as every one of Crowley’s nerves is craving. Instead, he licks the sweet spot just under his head, showers more kisses on it, swirls his tongue around it. He hums delightedly, the way he does when he’s sipped a particularly fine wine, and closes his eyes in concentration.

“Oh, come on, angel,” Crowley groans. Aziraphale flashes him another look, and even though his mouth (delicate, pink, how lovely) is highly preoccupied, Crowley can see the corners of a telltale smirk and a glint in his eyes. Oh, mercy, it’s a splendid madness; Crowley bites his lower lip, anticipation curling his toes, runs his fingers through that fluffy hair again.

At long last, Aziraphale takes Crowley’s cock all the way in, wrapping his hand around to fully engulf him all the way to the hilt, and makes another profoundly satisfied moan as he sucks to his fullest indulgence.

“Ahhh, fuck,” Crowley whispers, clawing at the bedsheets with the fingers that aren’t busy tousling his angel, tempted to throw his head back but refusing to look away from Aziraphale, from where this secret part of himself is being savored.

Aziraphale draws his mouth up and down along Crowley’s length, following with his hand, working thick and heavy strokes with his blessed tongue. He’s inspired with carnal fervor, too, pushing his hips into the bed as he relishes Crowley. Watching him thrust to the taste of sex drives Crowley almost as wild as his mouth itself does.

“Oh, angel. Look at you,” he breathes, chest heaving. Aziraphale’s hips roll to the same rhythm he’s availed to slide Crowley in and out of his mouth; his insatiable moan resonates in Crowley, and then he peers up with eyes as needy as the ocean’s undertow lapping at the shore.

At Crowley’s encouraging noises, Aziraphale quickens his pace. The sounds of his ministrations, hungry slurps and greedy groans and shuffling sheets, could be vulgar. They’re not. They’re the sounds of a sacrament, of two beings satiating themselves with the mutual unrestrained euphoria of getting to be this close together when they had once thought it impossible.

Crowley is going to come. Aziraphale plays up the moment, crooning and sighing his pleasure, continuing to grind on the bed as Crowley crests that wave and then falls throbbing into it. He grabs the sheets in one hand and lets his fingers clutch at Aziraphale’s hair with the other, biting his lip. And at last, he sighs from deep within, an “ _Ah, yesssss”_ hissing past his lips as the miracle of the human orgasm carries him to bliss. Aziraphale keeps playing, just a little, with his tongue, as Crowley fills his mouth.

The sight of Aziraphale swallowing his come and licking his red, swollen lips with a cheeky smile immediately makes Crowley want to give him the orgasm of the century.

**Aziraphale**

Aziraphale holds Crowley’s face in both hands, staring into those stunning eyes. He’s rather proud that they’ve gone full-serpent and haven’t returned to normal. As a matter of fact, this isn’t uncommon during sex, yet still, it’s always a thrill to see him so overcome.

Aziraphale threads his fingers in Crowley’s hair, just like Crowley had done for him, but this time face-to-face. He could wax poetic for a lifetime about burnished red hair and eyes with irises like the keyholes to the sun; he settles, for now, on pressing his lips delicately to Crowley’s. He is received with enthusiasm.

After a long moment, Crowley pauses, leaning his forehead on Aziraphale’s. “Insufferable, you are. Making me all soft like this.”

“Strictly speaking,” Aziraphale says, “I don’t know about that. If I remember correctly, a minute ago…”

“Oh,” Crowley huffs, kissing him again, “shut _up_.”

Aziraphale would like very much to respond with something like _perhaps you should make me,_ but Crowley has in fact already done a delightful job of it.

Meanwhile, Crowley also has Aziraphale in a close embrace, one arm around his back and an enthusiastic hand on his rear. He obligingly slips his thigh into a position Aziraphale can rub himself against while they kiss, even encouraging a rhythm to his advances with a suggestive pull on his arse.

The thing about the human body is that it can indeed blur the line between the physical and metaphysical. Having Crowley all wrapped around him like this is an experience nothing short of transcendent. Still, Aziraphale’s desire aches hot and heavy between his legs. The truth of the matter is that he’ll be easy to take apart, and he wants, oh, how he wants to come apart like Crowley just did.

“Please, will you stroke me?” he whispers.

Crowley reaches between them, caressing Aziraphale’s flushed, desperate cock with a feather-light touch that draws forth another pang of desire. “You are _really_ fucking ready, aren’t you?” he murmurs, kissing Aziraphale’s cheek.

“I suspect,” Aziraphale chuckles breathily, “you’ll make short work of me.”

“Hmm, can’t see what _I’ve_ done. It’s all been you so far.”

He’s being nice and also a tease. Crowley knows full well how wonderful, how perfectly luscious, oral sex is for Aziraphale. It’s the combination of close intimacy he never thought he’d have, the universally satisfying slide of whichever parts Crowley has chosen against his lips, his tongue. It’s the ambrosial taste of Crowley’s tender heat…

“Oh,” Aziraphale practically whimpers. “You know how I enjoy having your pleasure in my mouth.”

“I know, I know. Whatever you’d like, angel.” Crowley kisses his temple. “I’ve got you.” A smile lights up his sharp features, a campfire illuminating the carved stone of a secret sanctuary.

Aziraphale presses impatiently into Crowley’s splayed fingers, kissing that graceful neck of his. In response, Crowley slips his hand deep between Aziraphale’s legs, fondling him and sighing into his hair. Aziraphale hums his approval, grinning, and finds himself reaching up to thread both of his hands in Crowley’s thick copper locks. Meanwhile, Crowley grabs Aziraphale’s cock and starts working his hand from base to head and back again.

For someone who’s always trying to sell how self-interested he is, Crowley is a beautifully thoughtful lover. He knows exactly how Aziraphale wants to be stroked, rather on the languid side but thorough every time from hilt to tip, with a grasp gentle and firm enough at once to feel like reverence. It overcomes Aziraphale in the best way and pulls a gasp from him, as if he were sinking directly from the cold air into a hot bath.

“Perfection. Please, _please_ keep doing that, Crowley.”

Crowley maintains his steady pace, adds a smattering of kisses to Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder. He ignites a spark in Aziraphale’s belly by moaning as though _he_ were the one being pleased again. Aziraphale finds himself clutching at Crowley, one hand still in his hair and the other around his back, rutting with slow, greedy thrusts into his gentle fist. Aziraphale bites his lip and allows his breaths to be punctuated by little whines, the sounds of sweet relief taking flight.

Crowley chuckles. “You really don’t enjoy anything halfway, do you?” In his voice is a gentleness that he reserves only for Aziraphale, a tone so soft and private it beckons something torrid from within, something that rouses to meet Crowley.

“No - certainly not...not anymore,” Aziraphale pants, gruff with delectation for the cock-massage Crowley is giving him. The thrill of Crowley’s teeth grazing against his neck finally pushes him up to the very edge. Unable to keep a faint grin from his lips, he tilts his head back and slides his eyes shut with a pleased groan. “Ooh, Crowley, I’m on my way…”

“Oh, angel. Look at you,” Crowley whispers. “Look how lovely you are.” His words take Aziraphale back to Crowley’s orgasm, the candid way he had hissed in pleasure, the throbbing of his cock in Aziraphale’s mouth. And like Crowley had at that moment, Aziraphale comes, thick waves spilling into Crowley’s hand.

Time seems to stand still when this happens, existence narrowed into the tiny space that contains the two of them. Once the tension is all drained away, Aziraphale sighs dreamily and opens his eyes, blinking himself back to reality.

Crowley is lifting his wet hand to his lips, waiting for Aziraphale’s attention. When their eyes meet, he starts licking fat drops of come off his palm with broad, curling tongue-strokes.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale laughs, still out of breath. “You can just miracle that away!”

“No way. The look on your face,” he nods at Aziraphale and arches his eyebrows suggestively as he takes another slurp, “is priceless.”

Aziraphale closes his eyes and smiles in sweet surrender.


End file.
